Mutually Dependent
by Sixty-four K
Summary: He woke up in a dark room, with nothing but the clothes on his back. Well, perhaps that wasn't all that he had. There was another boy there, a faithful friend, often overlooked and usually undervalued. And, before long, they had grown to depend on each other. After all, there was no one else to depend on… The story of Simon Keyes' and Horace Knightley's friendship. AAI2 spoilers.
1. Confusion

He awoke in a cold, black room. He blinked- once, twice- and turned his head wildly, attempting to find something to focus his eyes upon. He instantly regretted it, as pain shot through his head. He desperately attempted to remember what had led him to this dark room, this hard, stone slab of a bed.

There was a car… and there was someone else…

He couldn't remember. Not yet, at any rate.

Then he realized that there was someone beside him.

He was surprisingly unalarmed at the revelation, and tentatively reached out a hand, placing it on the someone's shoulder.

The someone shuddered, letting out a sound that sounded suspiciously like a sob. "S-simon… is that you?"

He wasn't positive how to reply. The someone had a little boy's voice- rough, yet sweet, and seemed to be about his size- slightly bigger, though.

"I… I think so…" His voice cracked, throat dry. "Am I… Simon?"

The boy beside him sat up. "You… you s-sound like him."

Something- a slight breeze, perhaps, caused the door of the room to open slightly, a sliver of yellow light entering into the room. Simon- as he decided that he might as well be called, for now- was able to see the boy's face more clearly. He had a long, angular face, with dark hair cut closely to his head. More interestingly, though, tear marks trailed down his face. The boy, who had been studying Simon's face- with perhaps more interest than Simon had been showing him- realized what Simon had noticed, and ashamedly wiped away the wetness from his face. "I… I know what you're thinking," he stuttered, "but you have to understand. I was really worried about you… although I'm not exactly sure what happened. It was something bad, though, and I was really worried about you."

Worried? Why should he be worried about him? Simon wasn't positive that he in fact knew this boy. "And you are…?" he began, in a distant, yet polite tone.

The boy stopped rubbing at his eyes, and fixed him with an incredulous stare. "What? I… you've forgotten about… I'm Horace! From… from…" he trailed away. "I guess that I can't remember where we met… but we're best friends!"

"That's… good to know, I suppose." Simon hazarded a glance towards the door. "Talk more quietly, please; we don't know where we are."  
"Sorry." Horace rubbed at his neck, a wounded look crossing his face. "It's just… I can't believe that you'd forget me that easily. Remember the time that we-"  
"I'm sorry, but I don't." Simon turned his attention to examining the room. "We need to figure out where we are and what happened. Then I can remember all the fun times that we apparently had together."

A somewhat petulant, somewhat resolute expression came to rest on Horace's face. "Alright." He began to climb off of the bed.

Footsteps approached.

"Stop!" hissed Simon, roughly grabbing Horace's arm and pulling him back onto the bed. "Someone's coming… pretend to be asleep."

Horace immediately pulled the thin blanket over the two of them. They huddled there, barely breathing, in the cold and the dark.

"They're in here," said one voice, the tone of which was barely distinguishable. "Two of them- probably about six or so, the both of them."

"I can't believe it… dropped on the front step… no papers, nothing!" This voice was louder, a female's voice, high and hysterical.

"Calm down, Patsy," said the first voice, which was beginning to sound more like an older man's. "Who knows- they may turn out to be decent assets to the orphanage."  
"I guess so, but I doubt it. I can't believe it… of course something like this had to happen during my first week running the place."

The conversation gradually traveled away, and Simon breathed out a long, low sigh. "So, we're orphans, then."

Horace blinked. "Orphans… but we can't be! My dad…" He swallowed. "I can't remember. Does your head hurt? Because mine does, and I wonder what happened… I'm sure that there's some kind of explanation…"  
Simon had merely felt curiosity, tinged with annoyance, towards Horace thus far, but as the boy's voice trailed away, he felt a twinge of pity. "Enough," he said quietly. "We can find out more tomorrow. Ask questions, investigate. But right now, we should just go to sleep."  
Horace sighed. "I guess." He slipped out from under the blanket, placing it clumsily on top of Simon. He sat, watching the door. "You sleep first."

Simon said nothing. He thought himself to sleep by attempting to remember what had led Horace and himself to this place.

Right before he fell asleep, he thought that he remembered something, but it was just the sound of Horace quietly crying, and, so tired was he, that he could not tell whether it was memory, dream, or reality.

* * *

 _Author's notes:_

 _I published this on Ao3 awhile ago and, naturally, forgot to put it up here. Here's a few notes about what I'm planning for this story._

 _I'm obsessed with Simon and Knightley, and have been ever since playing through AAI2 during the summer of 2016. I don't ship them, however, and, during my search for stories about them, found that most stories about them are shipping fics(apart from a few excellent ones by the author elyvorg, which can be found on Ao3 under the tags for these characters). I thought that I'd better remedy the dearth of friendship stories for them, and have been working on this story that will focus on their dysfunctional friendship, rather than the romantic relationship that many authors prefer._

 _There will most likely be 18 chapters, starting from when Knightley and Simon were six, and ending when they are twenty-four(when Knightley dies). I'll probably alternate between their perspectives as well._

 _Anyway, I hope you enjoy! :)_


	2. Mild Pain

_Chapter Two: Mild Pain_

"Happy birthday, Simon!"

Horace could barely contain his excitement. It was- as he had said- Simon's birthday today. At least, that was what he had decided. They couldn't remember their real birthdays, so it had been necessary to pick them for themselves. It was Christmas Eve as well- the day that they had arrived here, at the orphanage, one year ago. And today, Horace decided, would be a day that Simon would remember forever, the day that his best friend gave him the best present ever.

Simon looked up from a drawing that he was working on. "Thanks," he said quietly.

"How's it feel to be seven?"

Simon hummed, tapping at his paper. "Well, not much different from being six. And we don't actually know how old we are, really."

"Well, it's a pretty good guess." Horace traced a picture on the ground with the tip of his shoe. "Anyway, I'm getting you a present later today. I bet you'll like it."

Simon blinked. "But I didn't get you anything yesterday."

Yesterday, the two had decided, was Horace's birthday. Horace had insisted that he was the older of the two, and Simon, apparently realizing that Horace wouldn't give in on the issue, agreed to let Horace be one day older than him.

Horace smiled. "Whatever. I didn't want a present. Anyway, it's my job to give you stuff… or something. I mean, it's more important for me to give you things than the other way around."

Simon rolled his eyes. "If you say so."

"Boys?"

A saccharine-sweet voice wafted across the courtyard.

Ms. Roland. She wasn't too old- eighteen or nineteen, maybe, but she was the supervisor of the orphanage. She had been nice to the boys throughout this year, because they both took extreme care to follow her every instruction. Horace wasn't sure if Simon had noticed, but he had spotted some of the other boys sporting bruises that didn't look as if they came from ordinary activity. He wasn't trying to judge, of course. There were older kids here too; it was a rough place. But never mind that now.

"We'd better go," whispered Horace. Simon slowly got up, tucking the notebook under his arm.

"Coming, Ms. Roland!" Horace hollered, pulling Simon by the arm into the office.

* * *

"Well, boys. I have some news for you." Ms. Roland shuffled some papers on her desk. "No one has come to claim you, and the police have turned up nothing about your pasts so far. As a result, we have to give you new names and register you with the government. Now," she began, leaning closer to Horace, "for the last time. Are you sure that you don't remember your last name?"

"No, ma'am," said Horace, shaking his head. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but Ms. Roland had already turned away. "And how about you, sweetie?" she asked Simon.

Simon shyly shook his head.

"Well then." Ms. Roland pulled a list out of her desk drawer. "In the "K's" already, I see… Hmm…. Kendrick… already taken… Kenney… Keyes! Alright, sweetie, your new name is Simon Keyes. And for you, Horace…"

"Can we be brothers?"

Simon and Ms. Roland both turned to look at Horace, the former with bewilderment crossing his face, and the latter with a knowing smirk.

"We're not brothers," said Simon, all shyness and sweetness gone from his voice.

"But then we can stay together… and if we get adopted, maybe they would take both of us."  
Ms. Roland clucked her tongue, shaking her head. "Sorry, honey, but you two are obviously not related. It's against policy, anyway."

"But why?"

She frowned down at him, seeming to grow more huge with every second that she loomed down. "It doesn't matter. And anyway, honey. What's the first rule that I taught you when you arrived here?"

"Don't ask questions," he mumbled. Before, though, he had never thought to ask questions! Simon was the curious one. He was curious in a sneaky way, preferring to find things out in roundabout, quiet ways. Horace had asked questions for Simon, to the other boys at the orphanage, mainly. He didn't want Simon to get hurt by any of the bigger children, so he had asked whatever questions were necessary.

This was the first time that Horace had asked an adult a question. He had only done it because it was something that he wanted so desperately that he would risk whatever punishment awaited him. He wanted to be Simon's brother, to stay with him, to protect him forever and always from whatever might try to harm him.

And surely Simon wanted this too...

"It's just- ma'am…" Horace began, with all the decorum that he could muster, "I'd really like to be Simon's brother… it was supposed to be his birthday pre-"

"Enough."

Horace jumped back, shocked. Ms. Roland had never spoken to him in that tone of voice before. The supervisor of the orphanage sat hunched over her desk, muttering. "Nobody ever listens to me… why did he give me this job…"

Horace and Simon stood, waiting, for, it seemed, several minutes. Finally, Horace felt as though he couldn't wait any longer. "Ma'am, could I…"

Her blood-red nails struck out faster than he could understand, and his hand flew up to his cheek faster than he could comprehend.

Ms. Roland stared at her own hand, then at Horace, uncomprehending. "I didn't mean…" she muttered. Then she snapped to attention. "Go to your room, Keyes, and you too…" she glanced at the list, anger and confusion in her eyes. "You too, Knightley. Don't bother coming to supper, either of you."

Stunned, Horace nodded. It was all that he could do to keep from running away from that office, now knowing the consequences of needless questions, but, worst of all, knowing that he had disappointed Simon.

They went up through the empty corridors, up into their "room," a long dormitory shared with other boys their age. It was quiet and dark in there, since most of the other children were having supper at that time.

Horace sat stiffly down on his bed, his hand covering the mark on his cheek. He could feel the red heat of where Ms. Roland had struck him, but it didn't really hurt. Not much. It was just the shock, and the realization that his birthday present for Simon was gone that hurt.

Simon sat across from him, staring with empty eyes. Horace tried to meet his scrutinizing gaze, but the look in Simon's eyes was so unnerving that Horace was forced to look away.

"That was…"

Simon was speaking now. "That was, well... Why make such a big fuss?"

Horace rubbed at his eyes, in spite of himself. "Well… I thought… I didn't think that being brothers would be such a bad thing…"

Simon turned to fluffing up his pillows. "I'm glad that you want to stick with me, Horace, but we aren't brothers. We never will be."

"W-well…" Horace trailed off. Then, he retorted. "How do you know we aren't brothers? We came here together, and it's not as if we remember our parents-"  
"I do," Simon whispered, never taking his eye off of his blanket, his small hands smoothing out all of the little creases. "I remember my father. And he was only my father. Not yours."

Horace attempted to calm the strange feeling in his stomach, lying down on his bed, curling into a ball. Today was supposed to be a good day. A day to celebrate with his best friend. His best friend, the only person that he really cared about.

It was all so confusing. It was obviously out of the question to try and discuss it with Simon, though; the boy was once again staring with vacant eyes at the wall.

He couldn't help but feel that this situation would become a regular one.

* * *

 _So... this story exists. But I partially forgot that fact. Sorry about that, fellow Simon and Knightley fans!_

 _I've actually had this chapter written for awhile, but I was never very happy with it; I feel like everything's a little too melodramatic, mostly because I was never quite sure what to do with Patricia Roland. I wasn't sure if she would actually go for a physically abusive route, but, given how she's always invading other people's space (I'm looking at you, Uncle Ray) in the game, it makes sense. If she really worked at the orphanage when the boys first got there, though, that would make her only about eighteen at the time, which I think partially explains her impulsive actions._

 _Knightley is surprisingly fun and easy to write, even as a child. It's Simon that's the tricky one, which is odd, since he has such a dynamic personality. I think Knightley's mental issues are closer to home for me than Simon's, so that helps._

 _Hopefully I won't take this long for the next chapter, but I think that I need to replay the game again before writing more, so that will take awhile. Thanks again for reading!_


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